


shaken not stirred

by therestlessbrook



Series: and my heart beside [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 12:45:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17622629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therestlessbrook/pseuds/therestlessbrook
Summary: Karen doesn’t know how to do this. How does she tell her best friend that she’s in a relationship with a man he once represented on multiple murder charges? She has to tell him in public. She’ll lead up to it. She’ll do this gently.But when she opens her mouth, what comes out is, “I had sex with Frank Castle last night.”Foggy chokes on an olive.





	shaken not stirred

Karen has dinner with Foggy every week.

He puts it on his company card, claims it as some kind of PR expense, and they dine at a restaurant that seems far too glittery for the both of them. “I need to know where to take clients,” says Foggy. He sounds grudging, embarrassed, and a little proud. Getting out from Matt’s shadow was good for him, she thinks. He’s clearly flourishing, both professionally and personally. Marci wouldn’t be Karen’s first choice of partners for Foggy, but then again… she doubts he would pick Frank for her.

Which is why they’re here, tonight.

She has to tell him.

The knowledge has been burning a hole in her belly since she woke up. She has to tell someone, and her options are Foggy, Trish, or—well. It’s a short list. And as much as Karen likes Trish, thinks the other woman could grow to be a good friend, there isn’t quite the foundation of trust yet.

But she trusts Foggy. And she knows that if she doesn’t tell him, the way her life goes, Foggy will probably stop by to pick up a book or something and see Frank Castle on the couch, and then run screaming from the building.

Tonight, she and Foggy are in an expensive restaurant by some up-and-coming chef. It’s all white marble and stainless steel, and the bright lights make her eyes ache. They sit at the bar, sipping martinis, waiting for their reservation. Foggy is talking about a bit of work drama—but she’s barely paying attention.

Karen doesn’t know how to do this. How does she tell her best friend that she’s in a relationship with a man he once represented on multiple murder charges? She has to tell him in public. She’ll lead up to it. She’ll do this gently.

But when she opens her mouth, what comes out is, “I had sex with Frank Castle last night.”

Foggy chokes on an olive.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, they’re in a different bar. A much seedier bar.

It feels a little like home, even if it’s not Josie’s.

“I can never go back,” says Foggy, after he’s downed a shot of terrible tequila. “I liked that place, and I can never go back.”

“You can go back.”

“I accidentally spat an olive onto the bartender. I can never go back.” Foggy looks mournfully at his hands.

“You hated that place,” she says. “It was pretentious.”

“It was,” he agrees. “All the places I go are pretentious now. _I_ am pretentious now. And you—you just thought to spring that on me?”

She winces. She kind of deserves his irritation.

“I didn’t mean to,” she says. “I just… I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Foggy presses his fingertips into his eyes, as if he’s trying to ward off a headache. “How did this even… I mean… I know things were bad after Matt died, but, how did this even…? I didn’t know you were still in touch with Castle.”

She tells him. About Frank contacting her, about the white roses in the windowsill, about finding the hacker Mirco, about what really happened in the hotel with Lewis, and about how Frank found her afterward. “He’s not the Punisher anymore,” she says. “Not really. He’ll still… I mean. If something has to be done, he’ll do it. But he’s not seeking out the fights, if that makes sense.”

Foggy looks as though she’s hit him over the head with a brick. He keeps blinking. “How’s he even still functioning in society? Shouldn’t he be… I don’t know? On the run?”

“New identity,” she says. “Homeland Security set him up with it as a thank you for dealing with their CIA problem. His new name’s Pete, by the way.”

“He—thirty-seven people,” he says helplessly. “He killed thirty-seven people.”

“More than that,” she admits. “Probably a lot more.”

He groans, gestures for another drink, and looks as though he wants to climb over the bar and just seize the whole bottle. “Karen. I know you’re an adult and all, but this is…” He pauses. “I’m trying to think of a nonjudgmental way to say it.”

“Reckless?”

“Batshit.”

“I love him,” she says, surprising herself. She didn’t know she was going to say that.

He winces. Downs the third shot.

“You sure it’s not… grief?” he suggests. “Some rebound thing? A need to blow off steam with a bad boy type?”

She snorts. “You wouldn’t say that if you saw him cooking dinner in an apron.”

“That is a mental image I never expected nor ever wanted to have, thank you very much.”

“And it’s not grief,” she says, because she needs to. “Foggy—I get it. I cared for Matt, too. As a friend, and maybe once we could have been more. But we never reached… anything more than one and a half dates, and while I know he meant well, he was… he was never mine.” The words tumble out. “He belonged to the mask. To the city. To everyone but me.”

“And how’s Castle any different?”

She tries to think of an answer. She runs her tongue along her teeth, tastes the hot burn of the alcohol and sharpness of lime. Wonders if he’ll taste it, too, when she goes home and kisses him.

“Frank—he never hid from me,” she says. “From that first moment in the hospital, he never once lied. There was no mask.”

“There was a vendetta, instead,” Foggy replies.

“There was,” she says. “But come on. Foggy. I know you love your family. What if—can you imagine…?”

She doesn’t have to finish that sentence. She sees pain flicker across his face.

“No,” he admits. “I can’t. Fuck. I don’t want to.”

“I’m not saying he’s perfect or anything.” She toys with her empty glass. “But neither am I. And he knows that—and never once turned away. He’s been there for me as often as I’ve been there for him. I trust him, Foggy. As batshit as that sounds, I trust him more than anyone—well except maybe you.”

“I’m honored,” he says dryly. Then sighs. “Fuck, I’m being an asshole. No, really, I am honored. And I feel the same. You know I love you like family.” He looks blearily at the table, as if debating whether or not to order again. “I’m just worried. Karen, you could get hurt. I—I’m not saying he’ll hurt you. But he’s got enemies. A veritable shit-ton of enemies.” His voice shakes. “I lost one friend. I don’t want to lose another.”

“I know.” She squeezes his shoulder. For a moment, they’re both quiet. It feels as though there’s a gap between them, a place where a third person should stand. And she feels the loss keenly.

Foggy leans on the bar, as if he needs the support. “This is really what you want?”

She thinks of how she woke up that morning: Frank’s arm around her waist, his face turned into her hair, breath against her skin. She remembers running her hand along the curve of one cheek, only for him to groggily come awake and kiss her fingertips.

“Yes,” she says.

Foggy looks miserable. But he says, “Okay. Okay.” He takes a breath. “Tell me something. I don’t know. Something that’ll make me feel better about all of this.”

She considers. “He made me coffee in the morning. He likes dogs. And he’s taken more than one bullet for me.”

“What’s he even doing now?” Foggy waves his hands around vaguely. “Is he working? Consulting for other would-be assassins? Am I going to stop by my favorite coffee stand and find him making lattes?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Construction.”

“Oh. Because the idea of him with heavy equipment is oh-so comforting.” He squints, as if trying to picture something. “Does he wear a shiny vest? And the hat?”

“Vest, no. Hat, yes.”

“That’s… good.” He appears at a loss for what to say. She knows he’s pulling from the list of items he would have asked any friend who’s dating someone new, trying to fit those questions around Frank Castle. “And he’s, I don’t know. Not an asshole? Respectful? Makes sure you’re okay?”

She smiles, presses her thumbnail to her lips. “He still calls me ‘ma’am’ sometimes. And if you’re talking sex, then things are more than good there.” She looks down at her drink. “Okay, this was stronger than I though it was.”

“You drank it on an empty stomach,” Foggy says. “We never actually got dinner. And for the record, I was not talking about sex, but thank you for that.” He has the look of a man who has learned far too much in too short a time. “I’m going to order another because now I’m thinking about the Punisher naked and I think I just had some kind of aneurysm.”

“He’s good for me, Foggy,” she says. “Really good.”

For the first time, he almost smiles. “You deserve something good. I know—and yeah, I’ll admit that Frank Castle wouldn’t be in my top ten picks for you…”

“Hey, I had to listen to you talk about Marci for the first few months.”

“You like Marci.”

“I do now,” she admits. “But in the beginning, she was a bit terrifying. More so than Frank, if you want my opinion.”

“Marci has never killed anyone.”

“Are you sure about that?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it again. He shakes his head. “Regardless, I’m happy for you. I think. Yeah, I’m happy for you. Or I will be—after this sure-to-be-hell hangover. Which I will blame you for.”

“Fair enough,” she says. They clink their empty glasses. It’s an olive branch. She smiles at him, ducks her head a little. “Thank you, Foggy. You’re the best of all of us, you know that, right?”

He flushes, and looks both mortified and a little bit pleased. “Did you ever think,” he says, “we’d end up here? Me as some kind of high-powered hotshot dating my old college girlfriend, and you, the Bulletin’s prize reporter with a slightly murderous boytoy?”

She thinks back to the days of Nelson & Murdock, when they were all younger and… perhaps not happier, but things were simpler. Now, she’s older and harder, but she knows where she stands. She knows who she stands with—and that makes all the difference. She wouldn’t have made different choices, even knowing she would end up here.

“No,” she says. “But I’m kind of glad we did.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn’t intending to write any more of this little universe, but I couldn’t resist Foggy. He is one of my faves.


End file.
